D Day

As nervous as I’ve been I woke up this morning with a feeling of excitement. It felt like it was Christmas or my birthday or something for a few moments there. Some part of me expected a special provision to be made, maybe some special food eaten, and my husband to be home from work. Of course none of those things happened. It’s just the due date, it is highly unlikely that anything significant will happen today.

Due dates are notoriously inaccurate. The reality is that it’s more like a due month. Our modern precision is very unhelpful when it comes to birthing. I have repeatedly had to explain to my father that the due date has not been and will not be amended. It’s not an exact science. I can’t give him a date to put in his diary. (You must understand that Dad is failing somewhat to grasp the point of retirement, he tries to run his personal life like a business, announcing that preparing the garden ahead of going on holiday constitutes ‘THE MOST STRESSFUL TWO WEEKS OF MY (his) LIFE’. Easy come, easy go will never carry any meaning for my father.)

I have, from the very beginning, been fairly sure that I was going to run over. Our due date was pushed out by six days at the dating scan. I had, however, been monitoring my cycle. I’m prepared to accept that I may have been two-three days out, maybe even four, but not six. In my estimation the baby should arrive at some point between the seventh and the eleventh if pregnancy is indeed forty weeks long.

By that stage I’ll be cutting it fine to deliver in time to avoid being nudged towards induction. Induced labours have a reputation for being more intense and painful than the natural alternative. They are also often thought to be the start in a cascade of further interventions which see you ending up with your feet in stirrups while someone cuts you up and manhandles your baby out of you with forceps. This is not my ideal birth scenario.

I want a quiet birth, with as few people in the room as possible. My body in a position of my choosing, that I find comfortable. Possibly in a pool. I don’t expect it to be beautiful or painless, but I don’t want it to be traumatic and to force a hospital phobic new Mum to stay in any longer than she has to. I can’t imagine that that will be the best thing for the baby, let alone my blood pressure.

I am going to be drinking Rasberry leaf tea and eating pineapple. Any best wishes anyone might have might also come in handy.